The Warmth of Death, The Chill of Life
by TheDutchessL
Summary: Esme Pratt Evenson always thought that death would be cold. But if life has turned cold, Death would have to be warm. -1000 word oneshot drabble, In Esme's head as she jumps. T for subject matter suicide -


I have always believed that death was going to be cold. I mean, that's what they always tell you. You are pushed into a cold black abyss. You wander towards a cold yet bright white light. You hop around on clouds; but even that, if you are speaking scientifically, had to be pretty damn cold. Alright, maybe **damn **cold wasn't the correct terminology. But, no, all you silly writers who think yourselves Shakespearean- **Life** is cold and complicated.

Like the way I felt, the plunging feeling in my stomach, when I felt like I was going to be sick. Like the porcelain of the bathtub against my bare skin as I screamed silently, trying to hold onto something. Like the doctors silvery instruments, and then his face as he told me what happened, as if I'd asked for this, as if I was at fault for what happened. Like my mother, disappointed again, Like my husband's eyes and hands as he grabbed my wrists and told me –insisted- that we would try again, and again, and again... Yes. Life is so cold.

But I suppose that isn't fair. Not everything is cold. Not everything. Not the pretty skirts that that swirl at my feet. Not the forbidden books I read to my sister… Oh, my sister. I am sorry, little girl. Not the eyes of the handsome, familiar doctor who smiled at me as I left, shaking. Not the sun baked garden, whose rich soil I worked in every other day, getting dirty, and just not thinking. Not my precious son, My precious Joseph David… He wasn't cold at all…

Yes, Life had its small bits of warmth. But they didn't last. Skirts, like beauty, fade. Books will end, and rarely happily. And I know the twinkly blue eyes of the doctor would turn icy and disgusted if he knew why I was a patient there. Garden flowers wilt, And my Joshua would be cold forever.

Oh, baby. I will see you soon, wherever you are. Safe from the harm of the world, which never had a chance to blacken your pure soul. Safe from Charles, who delivers his blows with hateful words, safe from taunting of the others, still with their dignity… If only they understood love. How is it possible that they are better people then I, souls still clean, when I have done nothing wrong, when I know love and they don't? Whatever is there, waiting for me in the next life, my baby, it will be warm. It will not judge.

What is it like, Joshua? What is it like, wherever I am going? I know you were already smart, though you had yet to open your eyes… Tell me, what awaits me at the bottom of this cliff? I would be lying if I were to say I am not scared. I am scared. So very, very scared.

Because, I suppose life is safe. Restraining. You can't get out unless you are thrust out, and that is what makes it harder then death, but at least you know what you are dealing with.

Please don't think I am stalling, dear Joshua. I am so ready to meet you. But… As I sit here on the face of the cliff, the edge of world… can you see it, baby? I am sure you can. I will describe it to you, in case. I don't know how many feet up I am, but I sit here, feet dangling, in the same white lace dress as I did on the day I found out about you, Joshua, and the red desert earth fans out behind me, hitting nothing but bright blue sky for miles and miles. It is so beautiful. That's why I am procrastinating only a touch, baby, you will forgive me… But it is a lot to lose…

Isn't it absurd that the world is most beautiful on the hardest days of your life? That sun shines on misery, dances in it? That, I am sure, has something to do with my "Death is Warm" principle, the sun warming my skin, and the rock smooth beneath me and the hold world seeming finally right on the day I leave it.

That is enough of this wallowing, wouldn't you say, baby? I am coming to meet you again now.

I pull my legs back onto the land, standing slowly and shakily over the expanse. And then, I do the silliest thing… I stretch. For the last time of feeling the luxurious way this body moves in the summer air. I inhale, knowing it will be my last one, and exhale, with the same thought. I inhales again.

Yes, still procrastinating, Joshua. I am sorry.

Now, I inhale… ant this really is my final one… I bend at the knees, and…

Jump.

I've done it. I've thrown myself into the expanse, and I was right. As wind, or maybe it is death, comes up to greet me, and gravity pushes me down, the feeling is warm, like being encompassed by something friendly, something that will make it all go away. I wait for impact, but it never comes. Was I really that far up? I can't have been… So, this is it? This warm feeling, this is death? Joshua? Are you here, baby? This can't be it…there has to be more… after all that, there has to be more, Damn it!

Anger explodes.

Red, Red Red. Everything has turned red with my anger. I am fuming, and then unconscious. And then fuming, and then unconscious. Red and black take turns, each staying in my eyes for long intervals… And the pain. Oh the pain, it is indescribable. I guess I was wrong, but so were the Shakespearean writers. Death isn't cold, or warm, it's downright hot. But full of feeling. Hell? No, because then there would be no unconsciousness… This couldn't be right, No, something has… changed. Not the same, not what was expected. I opened my eyes.

**Thanks to the lovely nerdosaurus93 for helping me figure out the baby's name. She is a far better writer then I am, so go check out her story, and review for her, or else we will just IM each other bak and forth and get no work done.**

**Peace. Love. Reviews.**


End file.
